


Oh, Won't You Take Me Dancing?

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bromance, Bucky is a smart ass, Captain America - Freeform, Humor, Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, Some Homophobic Attitudes, Steve is protective, Violence, War, World War Two, Younger!Bucky, daddy issue, peggy is a bamf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:58:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re right; you’re better. What’s your name, soldier?” he asks, stepping closer to the slighter man.</p><p>“Bucky Barnes, sir.” He announces with an exaggerated salute. </p><p>Captain Rogers’ mouth tilts into an amused smirk and he shakes his head.</p><p>“Your name is Bucky? That the name your mother gave you?” </p><p> </p><p>Or:</p><p>Steve and Bucky only meet during World War Two. Bucky is young, naive and thirsting for things he knows he shouldn't want. Steve is the admired and honored Captain America, struggling with the responsibility of being the icon of an entire nation. They meet and find things in each other they never knew needed to be found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> My first multi-chaptered bit for Stucky! Lemme know what y'all think!

“Hey! Greenie, pass me those smokes.”

Bucky glances up from the gruel he had been pushing around with his spoon and looks over at the burly shape the skinhead cut, his hulking shoulders sloping as he bent over his bowl of lukewarm porridge. He’s watching him expectantly and nods at the smokes placed in Bucky’s front pocket. Bucky fights the urge to roll his eyes and returns his attention to his half-eaten breakfast. The rest of the men seated around them were chatting quietly, each one of them more exhausted than the last from their first couple of days at Camp Lehigh. Basic was nothing like what Bucky had been expecting. His long, loose, inelegant limbs ache from the intensive training he was currently undertaking and his feet hurt even when he wasn’t using them.

“Newb? Share the damn smokes.” The man to his left sighs, not looking up from his own unappetising meal. 

“Why should I?” Bucky demands boldly. “They’re _my_ damn smokes.”

Skinhead snorts and leans across the table to swipe the packet from his pocket. He pauses for a moment when Bucky wraps his smooth, soft fingers around his thick wrist. He quirks an eyebrow and gives Bucky a questioning look.

“You’re not even here a week, Greenie; don’t you wanna make some friends?” he teases.

This time Bucky snorts and shakes his floppy fringe out of his eyes, setting his chin defiantly.

“You certainly ain’t ever gonna be a friend of mine, big lug like ya.” 

Skinhead breaks free of Bucky’s grip easily and snatches the packet of cigarettes. The rest of the men laugh as Bucky watches on with an outraged expression. Skinhead sighs dramatically and divides out the packet with the men surrounding them. He crumples the empty box in his hand before tossing it over his shoulder and giving Bucky a sympathetic look.

“If you just _shared_ , Greenie, I would have only taken one.” He explains with a widening smirk.

Bucky shoves his bowl of porridge away forcefully before jumping to his feet and stalking out of the canteen, a thunderous expression on his face. He storms past the rows and rows of soldiers, ignoring some of the other newcomers who call his name and ask him to come sit with them. He marches out outside and goes to make his way to his bunk when he spots his father approaching him in a jeep. Colonel Philips is beside him, as usual, and they both grin at Bucky when they take in the furious look on his face.

“A frown like that can only tell me that you’re not gettin’ your way, boy.” His father calls out as the jeep slows to a stop. 

Bucky folds his arms across his chest and fixes Sergeant Major Barnes with an impatient look.

“Gettin’ sick shit of the idiots you recruit as soldiers.” He retorts.

George Barnes bursts into loud, raucous laughter as Colonel Philips shakes his head fondly.

“You’d wanna learn how to hold your tongue.” He advises. “Those men would cut it out for less.”

The late summer sun is shining in Bucky’s face and he squints over at his father, a small pout settling itself on his plump lips. His father is a tall, athletic mkan with the kind of shoulders that look as though they could carry the world if they needed to. Bucky had his eyes and his mother’s lips; everyone told him that. He also had his father’s temper and he supposes that’s why they clashed more often than not. Colonel Philips was his father’s anchor though; always managing to calm George down before he took things too far. He tried to have the same kind of influence over Bucky but Bucky was like a young colt; wild and refusing to be tamed. 

“And you’d let them?” Bucky challenges, tilting his head to the side and watching him playfully.

George fixes him with a stern look before restarting the jeep, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re always telling me to let you fight your own battles, James.” He teases.

Colonel Philips looks between them before sighing to himself and taking out his own packet of cigarettes. He tosses them at Bucky and gives him a hard look.

“Just share the damn things; didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

Both of the Barnes men freeze a little at the mention of Winifred but they recover well. Bucky nods his thanks at Colonel Philips and slips the packet back into his front pocket. They settle him and help him feel a little more balanced, the familiar weight of the packet anchoring him.

“Yessir.” He mutters as he gives them both a half-hearted salute.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna impress the men in the 107th.” His father laughs as they begin to drive away. “They’re a hard group to crack!”

Bucky watches them go, unsmiling. He swallows the unpleasant taste in his mouth and tries not to dwell on the fact that he can never seem to outrun his father’s shadow.

 

.

 

Bucky is quick to decide that he doesn’t _understand_ his fellow soldiers. For the most part they’re stupid and the 107th seem to be the dumbest bunch of punks going. It annoys him. It infuriates him that most of their conversations revolve around ass, tits and what it’s like to have a dame go down on you. Don’t get Bucky wrong; he enjoys these topics as much as the next guy but he also likes to talk about baseball and books and _Brooklyn_. Shit, he misses home a lot more than he ever thought he would. He misses his ma and her easy smiles. He misses the way Becca used to sneak into his room when he was sleeping and try and steal his clothes so he’d be late for work. He even misses sitting at the window overlooking the bustling streets below and waiting for his dad to come home. 

He’s the youngest of the group and the most inexperienced. His comrades never let him forget that. 

“You even know what kissing a dame feels like?” Sanders would joke time and time again and the infantry would crack up as if it were the first time he had said it.

And Bucky would ignore him ‘cause he knows if he opens his mouth that his fists will follow so he tries to just let it slide.

“You ever touch a dame? Or you still at the stage where jerkin’ off into a sock in the most exciting part of your night?” Reeves would then pipe up, his tiny, ratty face twisted as he smirked, loving the sound of the other’s laughter.

And still, Bucky would just count to ten and flick through the newspaper on his lap, one of the few his father would loan him. 

But one night they go too far and Bucky knows that it is supposedly ‘the easy banter’ of soldiers but they mention his ma and that’s it for him; he sees _red_. He slams himself against Reeves and knocks him clean off his bunk, only to land on his chest and begin to pummel the shit out of his rodent face. It takes the rest of the men a moment to respond and it is Skinhead who lifts Bucky in a surprisingly gentle manner and drags him out of the hut. Bucky’s chest is heaving and the skin on his knuckles is torn. Skinhead looks more impressed than anything else but he still sends him to the Sergeant Major. Bucky almost argues that his father has more important things to do than referee a scuffle between two soldiers but then he realizes Skinhead is sending him there _because_ it is his father.

“You got a mean right hook.” Skinhead adds as he turns to walk back into their bunks.

Bucky shrugs.

“Not really. He just shouldn’t have mentioned my ma.”

Skinhead nods as though he understands and Bucky thinks that maybe he does. So, he does as was asked of him and makes his way through the camp to his father’s office. There’s a light still on inside and when he knocks on the door, his father’s booming voice tells him to come in. He pushes the door open slowly and he can pinpoint the moment George notices the blood on Bucky’s hands.

“Are you here because you are my son or because you are one of my men?” he sighs before Bucky can even open his mouth.

“Can you really separate the two?” Bucky challenges as he seats himself in the chair opposite his father.

George nods.

“Of course you can. For example, if you’re here as my son, you’re here because you _want_ to talk about what happened; if you’re here as one of my soldiers then you are here because you _have_ to explain what happened.”

“Some Private was talkin’ shit ‘bout Ma.” Bucky exhales, running one shaking hand through his untidy hair. “So I punched him. Was gonna give him the kiss off ‘til one of the guys stopped me.”

George looks at his eldest pensively; his lips pursed the same way Bucky does it. He puts down his fountain pen and glances down at the maps and papers strewn across his cluttered desk.

“You know, James, we never really talked about what happened-”

“No, Pa. Not now, _please_.”Bucky says quickly, a tight look pinching the corner of his eyes.

The Sergeant Major looks as though he wants to ignore his sons request but he doesn’t. He shuts his mouth with an audible click and shrugs one strong shoulder. He trails one finger along the edge of his mahogany desk and Bucky hates the sad, distant look clouding his eyes. 

“Reassign me.” Bucky suddenly demands, his voice cracking in a way that wrenches Georges heart from his chest. “Send me away to the Marines or somethin’; just _don’t_ leave me with the likes of Eric Reeves.”

George isn’t the kind of man to pull in favours for soldiers who aren’t mixing with their men but he _is_ a father and he knows that James isn’t the same boy since his mother died. Part of the reason he’d sped up his enlistment was to keep him by his side and in his sight because gone were the carefree smiles of the past and in their place came a sad, brooding look that made George feel as if he’d failed him somehow. 

“You’re not joining the Marines.” He says evenly, picking his pen back up again and beginning to write. “You wouldn’t last a day. I’m going to reassign you to Special Ops. You’ll still be enlisted under the 107th but you’ll spend your time training elsewhere.”

Bucky purses his lips as he realizes that this is the best offer his father is going to give him. He glances at the photo of his mother, framed and polished and sitting on his father’s desk. She’s laughing in it, her bright eyes lighting up the entire picture in a way that makes his chest tighten.

“She wouldn’t have wanted me here.” He sighs as he stretches out his legs and goes to stand.

His father makes a soft humming sound.

“No. But she wouldn’t have left you in that lonely house haunted by her ghost either.”

 

.

 

Oh, _God_ , the gun…his Winchester rifle is like nothing he has ever experienced before. She’s sleek and smooth and Bucky can feel her power thrumming beneath his fingertips when he picks her up. She silences all of the noise inside his head and makes his heart beat slow down. She’s magical. When he holds her, he feels like he could stop the war with one shot.

“I’m gonna be the guy who brings down the Krauts and ol’ Adolf.” He tells his father as they walk through the firing range.

There are other soldiers being trained but none of them appear to have the natural ability that Bucky possesses. He watches on with pride as none of them hit the marks as closely as he does. He knows he’s talented, has overheard Colonel Philips say it to his father a few times.

“You’re never going to get close enough.” George corrects him with a small smirk. “Your mother would never forgive me if I sent you _that_ close to enemy lines.”

Bucky gives his father a horrified look.

“B-but it’s my duty! I heard the Colonel say that I’m the best in the army! You tellin’ me you’re gonna leave me in this field for the duration of the war?”

The Sergeant Major laughs and gives Bucky a warm, fond look.

“I’m gonna leave you in this field as long as I can, James. You’re not even nineteen yet; you’ve no business running out there and fighting a war.”

“Boys younger than me have died.” Bucky points out quietly. “I bet you didn’t try and protect them the same way.”

George Barnes stops by one of the shooting points and hands Bucky his Winchester. He’s almost taller than him now and he’s filled out since they first came here. His cheeks are still round though and his eyes still shine with the innocence of someone who hasn’t seen the very worst this world has to offer. He picks up the gun and drops his head, his cheek resting against the cool metal. He’s different with a gun in his hands, George decides. His back is straighter and his hands are steady. It changes him in a way that George can’t describe. He shoots the target right in the middle and even shoots the one behind it. He’s grinning when he straightens up and he gives George the kind of smile he used to give to his mother after acing yet another math quiz.

“You impressed?” He teases and his hair is falling across his forehead, out of his pomade and George doesn’t think he has ever seen anything so beautiful.

“Sergeant Major! If you have a moment, I’d like to discuss the plans you’ve made for the expansion of the 96th Infantry?”

Both George and Bucky turn around to face the tall, handsome young man marching towards them. He’s bulging out of a white t-shirt and his slacks are covered in mud. There is a light sheen of sweat covering his face and his hair is pushed back out of his face messily. Bucky lowers his rifle and gives his father a questioning look. George salutes the man walking towards them and drapes one arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

“Ah! Captain Rogers. I was wondering when I would be graced by your presence. Colonel Philips told me you arrived yesterday morning. Have you met your men yet?”

“The 107th?” Steve asks, squinting over their shoulders towards the firing range behind them. “Not yet, sir. I was gonna head over there after the men had their supper.”

George hums his approval and follows Captain Roger’s gaze to where he was watching a young soldier make an admirable attempt at shooting the bull’s-eye. There is a crowd of soldiers gathered around the marksman, cheering and jeering playfully. The soldier misses the mark by a few inches and the Captain lets out a low whistle.

“He’s good.” He comments.

“I’m better.” Bucky sniffs.

George gives his son a mildly embarrassed look before letting out a startled laugh. Captain Rogers’ eyebrows are raised and he half-smiles at Bucky, an amused expression on his face.

“That so, soldier? You wanna show me what you can do?” he challenges with a quirk of his mouth.

Bucky raises his chin defiantly and gives the Captain a confident, cocky smile. He turns around and walks over to his post, his back straight and his shoulders set. The Sergeant Major watches on in bemusement as he watches his son raise his rifle and point it at the mark. Any tension that is in his shoulders seeps away and when Bucky fires, he hits the target right in the centre. He drops his Winchester easily and turns around with an expectant look on his face. Captain Rogers gives the Sergeant Major a small nod of approval before smiling at Bucky.

“You’re right; you’re better. What’s your name, soldier?” he asks, stepping closer to the slighter man.

“Bucky Barnes, sir.” He announces with an exaggerated salute. 

Captain Rogers’ mouth tilts into an amused smirk and he shakes his head.

“Your name is Bucky? That the name your mother gave you?” he teases.

Bucky smiles wider and shakes his head. 

“No, sir. My father calls me James and my mother called me Jimmy. Frankly speaking sir, I hate ‘em both and prefer Bucky.”

Captain Rogers laughs and nods once again.

“Alright then; Bucky it is. Nice to meet you.”

The captain extends his hand and Bucky shakes it with vigour, a teasing smile spread across his plump lips. George rolls his eyes and claps a large hand on the captain’s meaty shoulder.

“James is my son and believe me when I tell you, Captain Rogers, he’s about as suited for the army as I am for the ballet.” He laughs, throwing a fond smile over his shoulder at a rather indignant looking Bucky.

“Did you not just see me make that shot, old man?” Bucky exclaims passionately, gesturing over his shoulder at the perfect shot.

“I see what you mean.” Steve laughs, his eyes shining brightly as he looks at Bucky in delight. “We need more men like you, though, Bucky. Too many robots in this damned army.”

Bucky’s indignant expression turns to one of complete adoration. George doesn’t know why, but he looks away. He glances down at his boots and waits a moment for the ache in his chest to subside because no matter how hard he tries to play both mother and father Bucky never looks at him like that.

“Well, you ever see me actin’ like a robot, sir, shoot me on the spot.” Bucky declares dramatically. “A man ain’t got nothin’ if he doesn’t have his own mind.”

And the look Captain Rogers gives him makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat or two because _Lord_ , eyes like that should be illegal.

 

.

 

Captain Steve Rogers turns out to be the best thing that could have ever happened to the 107th; Bucky has even heard Colonel Philips telling his father as much. He’s a natural leader and the men respect him even more than the Sergeant Major. He works them hard and Hell, Bucky has aches in places he never knew existed. He’s a stickler for detail and never let any man in any doubt as to what he expects of them. But more importantly than any of that; he has a dangerous sense of humour. That’s what intrigues Bucky; the way he can run one of the most disciplined infantries in the army during the day and pull pranks and sneak out of camp with the men at night. It leaves that tingling taste of excitement in Bucky’s mouth and whenever he catches the Captain’s eye his heart speeds up to the point where Bucky figures Steve must be able to hear it.

“On a scale of one to ten how mad would your dad be if the boys swapped his toothpaste with icing sugar and baking powder?” Steve asks.

Bucky snorts and doesn’t look up from polishing his Winchester.

“He’d probably just assume it was me.”

Steve makes a low humming sound.

“Can’t have that. Don’t want one of my best men in trouble.”

“ _One_ of your best men?” Bucky exclaims around the piece of cloth he has held between his teeth. “I take offence, Captain Rogers.”

Steve laughs and leans back in his seat, his eyes sparkling as he watches Bucky work. The younger man glances up and meets the Captain’s eye. He offers him a roguish grin and the ghost of a wink. Steve smirks and shakes his head.

“If I keep tellin’ you you’re the best, Buck, you’re gonna get a big head.” He points out reasonably.

Bucky sniggers.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a big head, Cap. Imagine this beautiful face but twice the size? More of me to love.”

“Barnes, if you loved yourself anymore you’d be makin’ sweet, sweet love to your own picture.” Skinhead calls out over his shoulder.

Steve laughs long and loud as Bucky makes a face and flips Skinhead the bird. 

“Rather make love to myself than jerk off to the pictures Reeves keeps tucked under his mattress.” Bucky counters with a grin.

Skinhead and Steve laugh as Reeves gives Bucky an indignant look and Bucky can’t help but wonder when he became so comfortable in their company. In seemed like only a few days ago he was begging to be shipped off somewhere else; in reality it had been almost a month. He knew what the catalyst was; Captain Steve Rogers. His easy smile and soft laughter made everything seem that much bearable and Bucky didn’t want to analyse the new beat his heart thumped to because he knew that it belonged to Steve.

And he doesn’t know how he feels about that so he joins in in the group laughter and tries not to meet Steve’s eyes too often because every time he did, he felt a flush burn its way across his cheeks. But every time he does look away there is something egging him on, telling him to _just look up_ and when he does, he meets Steve’s gaze. He’s not laughing anymore and the smile curved across his cheeks is softer than usual. He leans closer to Bucky as Skinhead pokes some more fun at Reeves and tilts his head to the side with a dangerous twinkle in his eyes.

“How about you take me up to the range and show me how to handle you Winchester?” He teases quietly. 

Bucky quirks an eyebrow and smirks.

“Alright, Cap, but fair warning; you’re never gonna be as good as me.”

Steve lets out a soft huff of laughter and shakes his head fondly.

“Course not, Buck. You’re the best.”

And _Jesus_ , Bucky just knows this isn’t going to end well.


	2. Chapter Two

Bucky races Steve to the firing range, his hair falling across his forehead as he pushes himself faster and faster. Steve is elegant and stealthy and runs in one huge surge of energy. Bucky’s breathless, boyish laughter echoes around them and when Steve glances back at him with shining eyes and rosy cheeks, Bucky feels it catch in his throat. It is twilight; that magical moment of the day where the sun is setting and the moon is rising. The sky is torn between a deep shade of midnight and a breath-taking burnt orange. The remaining light speckles Steve’s hair and gives him even more of a golden glow. When they reach the crest of the hill, Bucky has a stitch and a light sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Steve is only slightly winded, a blinding grin practically tearing his cheeks.

“You say you’re the best in the army Buck, yet you can’t even beat an old soldier like me in a race.” He teases, leaning against the rifle stand.

Bucky waves Steve’s comment away dismissively and reaches past him to pick up the Winchester sitting in its usual place. Steve steps back, still grinning and watches Bucky set up. Bucky raises the weapon slowly and tries to level his breathing, one eye shut as he weighs up his target patiently. Behind him he can hear Steve’s own breathing slowing. The minute becomes still and Bucky feels his fingers relax against the trigger. The distant noise of the shouts and laughter of the men drift out and soon all he can hear is the steady beating of his own heart. And _God_ , he was born to do this. Instinctively he pulls the trigger and watches with satisfaction as the bullet tears right through the red circle of the target.

“Think you can beat me at _that_?” He chuckles lowly, turning around to face Steve with a knowing smirk.

His smirk freezes, however, when he takes in the _starving_ look in Steve’s eyes. The pupils of his eyes are wider than usual and the way he stares at Bucky makes his stomach flip and mouth go dry. He lowers the Winchester to his side and opens his mouth to speak when Steve coughs loudly and tears his gaze away, his cheeks suspiciously pink. 

“Nah, don’t want to embarrass myself.” Steve finally manages to say.

He takes a swift step backwards and gives Bucky a tighter smile than he usually does. 

“Chicken.” Bucky teases with a small smile.

 

His heart is still hammering against his chest and even though Steve has stepped away, they are still standing too close. Steve narrows his eyes briefly before shaking his head and holding his hands up in defeat.

“You got me, kid.” He admits with a self-depreciating smile. “I’m scared bad.”

The small smile on Bucky’s face fades and he gives Steve a calculating look. He purses his lips and gives his shoulders a small shrug. He knows when he’s being patronised so he sets down the gun and steps out of the magnetic field Steve seems to naturally construct whenever he was around.

“Fair enough, Cap.” He mutters, side-stepping the rifle-stand and making his way back down the hill. 

A small part of his is disappointed that Steve doesn’t follow him but he thinks that he understands. He knows that there’s something there, something he hasn’t shared with someone else before and if the Cap is scared, then that must mean that he felt something too.

 

.

 

Bucky’s skills on the firing range don’t go unnoticed. The men of the 107th soon begin to refer to him ‘Unbeatable Barnes’; a title that both humiliates and honours him. The word spreads throughout the camp that no one has a shot to rival his and those who try and takes his title fail miserably, much to Steve’s amusement. 

“You’re gonna kill the moral, Buck.” He sighs as yet another man steps away from the target defeated. “The men are getting reluctant to even pick up a gun!”

Bucky throws him a handsome grin over his shoulder and fires yet another perfect shot.

“I’d like to sympathise with you but I’m pretty proud of that.” He admits.

“Of course you are.” Steve sighs as he rolls his eyes.

The men around them are paired off and are taking turns firing at the bulls-eyes Steve had set up earlier. The sound of the sporadic gunfire around them is strangely soothing and when Steve reaches out for Bucky’s Winchester, he hands it over easily.

“Thought you were scared of looking bad?” Bucky jokes as he steps back and lets Steve square up with the target.

Steve lets out a soft huff of laughter and sighs yet again.

“There are other men here who look a Hell of a lot worse than I will.” He explains.

“I wouldn’t have laughed.” Bucky mutters. “No matter what you did, I wouldn’t have laughed.”

From the way Steve’s back stiffens, Bucky knows that Steve knows he’s not talking about his firing abilities. Still, he remains silent and continues focusing on the target opposite him. It takes him a few minutes before he pulls the trigger and when he does, the bullet sails past the target and out into the field behind it. Bucky chokes back his snort and steps closer, tilting the barrel of the gun downwards. 

“You’re holding her too high.” He explains, acutely aware of where their shoulders are pressed together. “And you’re gripping her too tight; the aftershock is pushing her aim off.”

Steve nods, an intense look in his eyes as he aligns his gun with the target again, his teeth gently gnawing at his bottom lip as he tries to focus himself. Bucky reluctantly steps away and this time when Steve releases the trigger, the bullet skims the top of the board.

“Better!” Bucky laughs as Steve hangs his head in shame.

“I’m much better at hand-to-hand.” Steve is quick to assure him.

“Hand-to-hand ain’t gonna be much use to you when you’re out on the Front.” Bucky points out, leaning against the low fence behind him.

“Nothing is much use to you when you’re _there_ , Buck.” Steve says with a soft smile. “That’s where they send men to die.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at Steve and tilts his head to the side curiously.

“That gonna be where they send the 107th?”

“Hopefully not whilst you’re a part of it.” Steve says softly. “You don’t wanna end up out there.”

And there’s a softness to Steve’s eyes that Bucky has never seen before. The way he looks at him, it reminds him of his ma and that makes his chest ache in the worst way.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Bucky snaps defensively. “I wanna be out there; take a piece of the action for myself! What kind of soldier am I ever gonna be if all I do is spend my time here?”

“Who says you gotta be a soldier?” Steve demands. “Why don’t you train up and become a medic? Or an engineer? You’re smart, Buck, and your Pa is always talkin’ to Colonel Philips about moving you out of the 107th and into-”

“I don’t wanna leave the 107th! I don’t wanna leave yo-”

Bucky stops himself just in time and fights hard against the blush that creeps its way up his neck. He swallows hard and looks away from Steve. The older man was blushing a little too, his blue eyes trained on Bucky’s boots.

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt.” Steve finally admits quietly and Bucky thinks that maybe they’re not just talking about the war anymore.

“I can handle myself.” Bucky assures him firmly.

When their eyes meet again, Steve gives him a slow nod and folds his arm across his chest in a way that makes him appear smaller, more fragile.

“You’re my friend and I care about you. I don’t want to lose that.”

The gunfire around them is still going and it soothes the dull ache in Bucky’s chest as he nods his head and forces himself to give Steve a bright, reassuring smile.

“You’re my best pal, Cap and you ain’t gonna lose that ‘cause I’m with you till the end of the line.”

 

.

 

“Bucky? Can I’ve a word?”

Bucky looks up from his newspaper and nods at Colonel Philips, who was standing at the mouth of his tent with a deep frown etched across his forehead. When the Colonel turns to leave, the other men start making faces at Bucky and teasing him as he marches outside to meet him. The Colonel doesn’t check to see that Bucky is following him, he simply makes his way over to his jeep and sits there and waits. Bucky crosses the path quickly and hops into the passenger seat, a curious look on his face. It’s cold out and he doesn’t have his jacket on so he plunges his hands as deep into his pockets as they will go. The sit in silence for a moment before Colonel Philips gives Bucky a sidelong glance.

“I hear you’re the best sniper in the army.” He states in a bored tone. “I’m bein’ told by every general in the West that James Buchan Barnes’ got a better shot than Cupid.”

“I don’t aim for the heart, sir, I aim for the head.” Bucky contradicts him with a smirk.

Colonel Philips rolls his eyes and turns in his seat to face the younger man better. There’s a hard look in his eyes that tells Bucky that this isn’t a social call. He clears his throat and leans closer, one hand coming to rest on Bucky’s shoulder.

“You wanna be a soldier, don’t you? You wanna prove to your daddy that you got what it takes?” He whispers quietly.

Bucky feels his heart rate pick up and nods quickly.

“Well, I gotta job for you, son but you can’t tell _anyone_ and that includes your pal Captain Rogers. This is a top secret mission and one that not even the President himself knows about.” Philips continues, a dark twinkle in his eye. 

Bucky feels a bubble of excitement start to grow in his throat and he nods enthusiastically, leaning closer to the Colonel and listening carefully.

“Tell me, James, have you ever heard of _Hydra_ …”

 

.

 

Bucky’s head swims that night. Information swirls around his head in a way that makes his mind throb. He tosses and turns restlessly, finally giving up when the moon is more than halfway across the sky and kicks back his covers. He steps into his boots and slips out of the tent, ignoring the way Skinhead whispers his name and asks him where he is going. He moves through the navy grass silently and makes his way to Steve’s tent. He knows that Philips told him to keep it quiet, but surely he can seek some carefully selected advice from Captain America?

The camp is dead and quiet and dark but when Bucky makes it to Steve’s private tent, he can see that there is an oil lamp burning inside. He creeps closer and leans down to pull open the flaps when he hears a woman’s laughter. He pauses and holds his breath and sure enough he can just make out the rustling of sheets and Steve’s own responding chuckle.

“Is he _really_ the best in the army? Chester is positively obsessed with him.” The woman whispers and Bucky recognises the voice as that of Agent Carter, his father’s wing-woman.

“With a gun; yes but he’s not…he’s not a _soldier_ , Peg.” Comes Steve’s slow answer.

“Really? Even with Captain America spending every waking minute with him?”

“Even then.” Steve laughs. “He’s a sweet kid and war isn’t the place for him. He’s not ready.”

Bucky’s heart drops into his stomach and he crawls backwards, hating the way his chest suddenly felt too tight. He doesn’t understand _why_ he feels the way he does and when he scrambles to his feet, he runs back to his own tent, hating the burning sensation at the back of his eyes or how he can’t catch his breath.

 

.

 

He doesn’t analyse his feelings, he just pushes them down past the feelings of regret and remorse for his mother’s death and even past the horror of his sisters. He buries them as deep as he can and when Colonel Philips calls for him the next day, Bucky knows that he’s ready.

(Ready for what, he doesn’t know, he just realizes that death doesn’t scare him the way it used to.)

They give him a team of men, men of the 107th and when Skinhead slings an arm around his shoulder and grins down at him encouragingly, Bucky can almost forget the fact that he wishes it were Steve leading them.

(Because this is _his_ team now and _his_ mission.)

And missions go wrong; Steve had explained that to him before. Steve had told him plenty of stories of men who had been captured and tortured at the hands of the enemy. But nothing could have prepared him for the _agony_ of Hydra.

(They find a way to make him relive the same day over and over and over…)

He has seen them slowly pick apart his team. Has witnessed the likes of Reeves kicking and screaming as they drag him into the room _nobody_ returns from. 

Nobody except Bucky. They bring him there day after day and yet he still returns at night, much to the surprise of the men around him.

“What’s so special about you, old chap?” One British soldier whispers one night.

Bucky doesn’t respond because he’s not special; he’s cursed.

(Because everyone else _dies_ , he’s seen it with his own two eyes, so why can’t he?)

 

.

 

It’s what George perceives to be an uneventful Sunday morning when one of his Sergeants enters his breakfast room with a sombre expression on his face. Captain Rogers, Colonel Philips and Agent Carter are also present, as they are every Sunday, and each of them still as they take in the tight, white features of Sergeant Jones. Jones makes his announcement and when Bucky’s name is read from the list, George’s vision turns white and his hearing becomes static. He glances around the room slowly before getting to his feet. He is vaguely aware of the orders spilling from his mouth and only falls silent when he feels Peggy’s arm on his shoulder. 

“Sir? Perhaps you should remain seated for the moment.” She says softly, gently pushing him back to his chair.

“We need to send a team after them.” George insists, turning to Philips, seeking his advice.

Colonel Philip’s face is pale and pinched as he shakes his head.

“They are presumed dead, George.”

George squeezes his eyes shut and lets out one, long, shaking breath, his head falling into his hands. He hears a chair scraping back over the wood of his floor and when he looks up, Steve is on his feet, a determined look on his face.

“They are only presumed dead because they haven’t been found yet.” He declares.

“Steve-” Peggy warns just as George nods at the Captain and says;

“Do whatever it takes, Rogers; that’s an order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeek thank you all for reading and commenting! Please let me know what you think of this one!


End file.
